it happens like this
by Trumpet-Geek
Summary: [Takahashi Keisuke/Fujiwara Takumi] Takumi has always found a measure of comfort in the chill of winter.


**it happens like this**

**by:** katsukifatale  
**summary:**takumi has always found a measure of comfort in the chill of winter.  
**warnings: **introspection, slight canon divergence, very super minor mention of depression if you know where to look, getting together, first kiss  
**an: **a warm-up for more things to come!

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Takumi has always found a measure of comfort in the chill of winter.

Part of it, he thinks, is probably due to the tenuous hold he has on his mother's memory. There's not much he remembers about her, but he does remember the way her soft, slender fingers had gripped his wrist when she took him ice skating on Lake Akina after the new year, holding him steady while his little feet slipped and slid on rough ice. He remembers her voice, sort of, singing quietly to him while she cut up vegetables for nabe — the way certain syllables lifted and dropped, just barely louder than the snick of the knife meeting the cutting board. He remembers, too, the steely color of her eyes.

He sees them every time he looks into a mirror.

(He wonders, sometimes, if they were dull like his.

He hopes not.)

Maybe there's a certain kind of lonely beauty to it, too. Driving has always been a chore, something his father makes him do in the too-early hours, but there's comfort to be found there, too. It's in the routine of it, and in the quiet solitude of the mountain pass. Takumi finds that he appreciates the delicate frost patterns that show up on the windshield of the hachiroku in the dark and the way his breath crystallizes in the air like candy floss, and the feeling of the cold, thin mountain air that raises goosebumps beneath his hoodie. He appreciates the feeling of just him and the hachiroku on the touge, just barely on the edge of his control, tires slipping on the glittery snow-covered pass and kicking up diamond dust in their wake as they slide through the corners. Appreciates the pastel watercolor sunrises that wash out across the sky, above the trees, creeping over the interior and the backs of his hands on the wheel.

When Itsuki asks him for heat packs at the gas station, Takumi always shrugs him off. He doesn't use them, prefers to feel the numb feeling that comes and goes in his fingers and the cool slide of his thick work clothes against his skin. It's crisp and it's clear — nothing like the stifling heat of summer, with air that's too heavy and close to his skin. He hates the feeling of his shirt sticking to him with damp humidity, and the prickling feeling of the sweat that beads at the back of his neck and his hairline even in the early morning.

He's always tired, but the cold is the thing that wakes him up, makes him feel sort of alive.

(Until he meets Takahashi Keisuke.)

The first time had been an accident. He'd barely noticed the yellow FD in his haste to get home and get some more sleep before school, but the yellow FD had noticed him , and that's — new. Different. The second time isn't an accident, and as he locks eyes with the younger Takahashi brother he feels something he can't process in the moment — a hot, sparking thing that slips down his spine and lingers in his stomach. The feeling doesn't go away even after he crosses the finish line first, and he doesn't know what to do with himself except keep going. He lies in bed that night, hands folded up behind his head, and thinks what he'd felt had been excitement.

Keisuke confronts him about his lack of drive not long after, and he is fire incarnate and so full of unbridled passion, all bark and bluster and wild yellow hair and wild yellow car and brakes that glow orange behind his tires. He's a solid wall of strength and determination and righteous, beautiful anger and even though he's stifling like summer Takumi finds himself unable to stay away from the heat. Keisuke makes him curious about himself, in ways he doesn't know if he's ever been — makes him want to find out if he's worth all that confidence and fury.

He tests himself against drivers from all over and feels piercing blue eyes on him in every race, sees the headlights of the FD in his rearview.

He wins — a lot.

(It turns out he is worth the confidence, and what a revelation that is.)

When Ryousuke asks him to join Project D Takumi hesitates. Ryousuke is a monster in his own right, confident and cool and aloof. The pressure is enormous and Takumi finds himself lingering on the edge of it, even with everything happening with Mogi. But when Keisuke asks he agrees, no questions asked, no second thoughts. And when Keisuke asks him — no, tells him to follow him into the pro circuit someday he agrees to that, too.

Maybe Takumi can't say no to Keisuke anymore, when he looks at him with all of that heat in his eyes and that crooked, enticing grin.

Maybe Takumi doesn't want to say no.

(So he doesn't.)

They spend spring and summer chasing each other up and down the mountain and sleeping in their cars. Takumi thinks about nothing but racing and learning and the way Keisuke looks when he's sleepy and when he's proud. It's a routine that's both comfortable and exciting, because he can feel himself getting better and better with every run of the course, every challenge. It's the best spring and summer he's ever had, and as the heat and humidity wash in from the ocean Takumi finds that summer isn't so awful — it's actually kind of beautiful . Like when the windows are down and the FD is drifting at his side, close enough that Takumi can reach out and brush its smooth body; like when the first thing he sees at the end of a race is Keisuke's sharp grin.

Like when Keisuke kisses him for the first time, soft and sweet, his curling tongue tasting like the watermelon Takumi had seen him eat earlier.

At the next race, Takumi lingers at the passenger side door of the FD as it idles, ready to take on the uphill. The night is cool but the humidity lingers; it reminds him of the sweat on the back of Keisuke's neck after he's worked on tuning his car and feeling of Keisuke's warm waist beneath his palms. The blond grins at him from across the roof of the car, eyes just this side of wicked, and Takumi curls his fingers into his palms and grins fiercely back.

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thank you for reading!


End file.
